


America the Great

by Qophia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Inauguration, Presidential Inauguration, Sam Wilson makes a cameo, definitely not Donald Trump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qophia/pseuds/Qophia
Summary: "Hi, I was given this number to call if I was interested in participating in the presidential inauguration? This is Steven Rogers."





	

Ring.

"Hi, I was given this number to call if I was interested in participating in the presidential inauguration? This is Steven Rogers."

“Captain Rogers! We honestly weren’t sure if we were going to hear from you. You haven’t exactly been friendly toward our incoming administration.”

“Well, ma’am, at a certain point you have to recognize the inevitable and simply commit yourself to carrying out your patriotic duty as an American.”

“I’m so glad to hear you’ve come to see things our way, Captain. Someone will be in touch later this afternoon to coordinate your itinerary and... _assist_ you with preparing a few words.”

“Ma’am.”

Click.

  


* * *

  


Steve Rogers absently runs a finger under the chin strap of his helmet as he waits just offstage. It’s funny how some things barely seem to have changed at all: if he focuses on the velvet drapes and the smell of the scaffolding, he could be at any of the scores of shows he’d performed in the early days of his involvement with the war. Punching out “Hitler”—what a joke. If only things were that simple. Sooner or later, you have to buckle down and do what needs to be done, for the greater good, no matter how personally repugnant you find it.

Even when you’re as big as Steve is now, sometimes things are just plain bigger than you.

Steve joggles his left arm to feel the comforting, solid weight of the shield, and as a spotlight swings towards him, Captain America strides out onto the stage. There, in the center, at the podium, smirks the president. He will not be coming to meet Captain America halfway: the president waits for Captain America to come to him. And he does.

It’s at least a dozen paces from the wings to the center, even for Steve’s broad stride. At two steps from the president, he begins to extend his hand. After a pointed pause, at one step, the president raises his own hand to meet it.

Captain America does not shake that hand, but he instead snaps it downward with a negligible portion of his considerable strength. The president stumbles.

Captain America, with a face like he’s hewing wood, brings his star-spangled shield down on the exposed back of the president’s head with a _non_ -negligible portion of his considerable strength.

The shield hums, quietly. The head pulps, messily. Neither is heard by anyone but Steve, though many will later claim they did.

As what sounds like a jet engine roars louder overhead, Captain America bends to the podium’s microphones. “Fascism is not to be debated,” he states firmly into the shocked silence. “It is to be smashed.” He steps back just as Falcon lands behind him and quickly braces himself, and the two men fly off as the crowd finally begins to find its voice.

  


* * *

  


One hour after the assassination, every major metropolitan newspaper in the country receives an editorial submission. Not all of them print it, but enough do—even if out of a fear of being scooped. One elects to publish it on their front page, without commentary or redaction, illustrated by a single photo that would go on to garner that year’s Pulitzer: the president toppling with a bewildered look, as a stern Captain America yanks him off-balance with one hand while the other rears the iconic shield above their heads.

  


* * *

  


In 1941, I attempted to enlist in the United States armed forces for the first time. Being the sort of young man the late president would have eagerly mocked, frail and far from physically imposing, I was classified 4-F and rejected as being physically unfit to serve. Feeling that my duty to more directly contribute to the war effort outweighed any technical concerns about regulations, I attempted to enlist again, repeatedly, in multiple locations. I even fudged my paperwork, trying to slip myself past a doctor who was careless. Or sympathetic.

In 1943, I finally found such a man in Dr. Abraham Erskine. More than anyone else, he is responsible for Captain America. Dr. Erskine was anything but careless, and he saw straight through my pathetic attempt to bluff my way into the fight. I can’t say what else he saw in me, but he asked what made me so eager to join up. Did I want to go kill some Nazis? I told him I wasn’t interested in killing anybody, but I didn’t like bullies. Dr. Erskine recruited me as a candidate for his experimental serum, and he tapped me as the one to receive the first dose.

I’ve never seen myself as anybody particularly special. I don’t think I do anything that another person couldn’t and wouldn’t have done, given the same opportunity. But opportunity is what I’ve been given, so it’s my job not to waste it. When I wear the uniform, it becomes about more than just me.

Captain America is a promise, and it’s not one made to me. It’s a promise to everyone in this country, that as long as I have the strength to hold this shield, I stand for all of us, and I stand for the best of what America should be.

My name is Steven Grant Rogers. I turn 32 years old in July—or 99, depending on how you’re counting. Just before I turned 25, Dr. Erskine, a man I barely knew and would never get the chance to know better, but had already come to deeply respect, reminded a little guy that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own. One day later, Captain America was born, and Dr. Erskine died on a Nazi bullet.

I spent two years on the ground fighting German Nazis in Europe, and seven decades in the ice to stop them from dragging the horrors of that war over to our home. And I’ll be damned if I let them start it all up again, just because they think we won’t recognize them in a fancy new suit.

For the first time, let’s make America great.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction speculating how a comic-book character would react to a theoretical situation. No presidents were harmed in the writing of this story.
> 
> Comments, corrections, constructive criticism, and commiseration are all encouraged.


End file.
